It's me again! Apologies for another lengthy delay, I've got more exams and am moving house again both within 4 days of each other so a little busy. Also, Canada is awesome.

I am so utterly overwhelmed by the response to this, I never, ever imagined getting over 100 reviews on a story! Thank you all so much, hope you enjoy the next one.

H is for History, Honesty

When Molly arrived home that evening, after a day that felt as long as a week, she was greeted by a morose looking fiancée and a hungry sounding cat. She decided to deal with her cat first, as he was doing the best at vying for her attention sadly. She could also use the opportunity to talk through her day with the person in the house who cared about her career. Molly sighed to herself, it was a sad state of affairs when you held your cat in higher regard than your fiancée, she secretly hoped that today would give Tom a kick up the backside to realise he does have to start taking more of an interest in her life, and accept her friends for who they were. She doubted it would happen, but ever the optimist, Molly lived in hope of the day where she wouldn't have to lead separate lives at home and work.

Things had been a little awkward since the garden party, especially with the subsequent phone call with his mother.

"I'll get something out of the freezer; it's been a long day. The last thing I needed was to mediate between the government and his brother over who had eaten the last chocolate biscuit." Molly rambled to herself, slamming the freezer door, doubting Tom was listening.

"You spend more time with them than with me," He piped up, sounding like a whining child. She was glad she had her back to him, because she couldn't help rolling her eyes, but managed to stop a sarcastic reply from leaving her mouth. Maybe she was spending too much time with them… She all but threw the pre-prepared meals into the microwave and turned to face him, exhaustion had got the better of her it seemed.

"Well, shall we draw up a chart of where Molly is and when, and then we can quantify it and add up all the hours, and then find out that because she sleeps here, she spends more time with you." She responded in her most condescending tone, not unlike the one that was generally used on children, or Sherlock.

"That's hardly spending time with me. We used to go out and do things." Tom sulked

"That was when I was working my contracted hours. In case you hadn't noticed, I do an average of four hours overtime a DAY now, running extra tests and going through autopsy reports of people who never should have passed their medicine degree, let alone be allowed onto the pathology course. Who else is going to be a party to experiments to figure out what the rate of decay of retinas is in tea to prove a man's alibi and stop him going to jail for murder? I don't do it because I want to, I need to be there, so innocent people aren't put away, and the correct criminals can be caught!" Molly ranted, shaking with anger by the time she'd finished, she had never thought of her fiancé as selfish before, then again, he'd never had to deal with her having her friends around before. A little jealousy was healthy, but this was ridiculous. She ignored the beeping of the microwave in favour of the beeping of her phone.

[You were needed 10 minutes ago –SH]

[Possible serial killer – SH]

[Please – SH]

Molly resisted the urge to throw her phone out of the kitchen window, grabbed her coat and vacated the flat.

The probability of Tom encountering the Scotland Yard crew was fairly slim, as he tried to avoid the hospital when he knew there was a case that might involve Sherlock on. Today, however, marked the third day Molly had not been home, and he felt he'd run out of excuses not to pop over to reconcile over lunch. Luckily she kept a fair amount of spare clothes at the hospital or Tom would have had to pop by when she had four bodies to process in half the amount of time it would take, and it wasn't that she was embarrassed by his reaction to her job, actually, she was a little. A lot. There was a vested interest from both parties not to meet at St Bart's, but serial killers are not considerate of such things.

Molly sent Greg to fetch Tom from upstairs. It was not officially allowed for that many people to be in the morgue at any one time, but if she wasn't allowed a proper lunch break in light of the bodies that just kept pouring in, Tom would have to come down to see her. It was the second batch she'd had to deal with, and would love to pass off some of the workload, but Sherlock wouldn't have it. It was only after she'd started throwing things at him that he'd let her get some sleep the first night. She sighed to herself, it wouldn't be long before the case was wrapped up and she could take a day off to recover. Due to the vast quantity of bodies and lack of evidence at the crime scenes, Greg and co had decided to forgo their analysis at Scotland Yard in favour of the office that adjoined the morgue, so when fresh information came in they could use it. It was also easier to manage Sherlock in a place where the staff were further away from him and there was a lab he could disappear to. The detective in question, mercifully, was at Baker Street with an arm full of nicotine patches and a very tired John. This allowed everyone else to get on with their jobs properly and unhindered.

Tom entered the morgue with more than a little trepidation, the impromptu autopsy Molly had done in the graveyard was bad enough, he wasn't looking forward to a full one. It just so happened that he walked in when she was sawing the breastbone. He turned a fetching shade of green and turned around sharply to make his way to the nearest toilet. By some twist of fate Anderson was also in the men's, having a suspiciously weak stomach for a forensic police officer. As it would later transpire, Anderson was waiting for Tom so he could try and glean more information into Molly and Sherlock's relationship- he hadn't bought Sherlock's version of the fall and was convinced Molly had more to do with it. Part of him was also curious as to whether the engagement between Molly and Tom was a set up, and Tom was secretly Molly's bodyguard while Sherlock went away, and she never could have married him because she's already married to Sherlock. These 'conspiracy theories' did not go down well with Tom, who was irritated with Anderson enough to go back into the morgue, momentarily forgetting what was going on in there.

"Healthy heart, that's not in his MO," Molly muttered to herself, putting the organ back into the chest cavity. She called over Greg to ask whether it was a slip up, a copycat, or something had changed with the killer, but was rudely interrupted- first by Tom's entry and then by Sherlock's.

"Molly, Anderson has been talking through some of his more convoluted and romanticised versions of my suicide with your future husband. We've got a copycat on our hands," Sherlock changed topics with a gleam in his eye and a spring in his step, taking a step forward towards the body to see if anything else had been missed by the new killer. He looked the body up and down, then Molly up and down, and declared that it was lunchtime before flouncing off to the lab upstairs. She sighed; she must look rough if Sherlock was telling her to eat. Donovan, Anderson, Tom, Molly and Greg made their way up to the staff cafeteria for a well-deserved cup of tea and some sandwiches.

It should have been a well-mannered lunch, no consulting detective to spoil the mood, and a few friends and work colleagues getting some valuable mental rest. They were already days ahead of where they would be without Sherlock, but it was still taking too much time, too many corpses for everyone's liking- except Molly's, after all, it kept her in a job. Lunch however was not as calm as it should have been; Tom kept glaring at Anderson, who was looking rather sheepish. Sally did not appreciate this, and began to glare at Molly, who in turn sent a pleading look to Greg, who simply rolled his eyes; it was like being in a school playground with this bunch of supposed adults sometimes.

"Would you please get over yourselves, and stop acting like children," He scolded, shaking his head and returning to his rather meagre lunch of jam sandwiches and an orange. He sighed, the worse his lunches got, the closer they were to divorce again.

Molly was almost cringing at the behaviour of her fiancé, and was very thankful when Mike Stamford asked to speak to her. He wanted to know what she was getting John for a wedding gift, and wanted it to be extra special seeing as he couldn't make it. They concluded that John would be grateful for something historical to do with their regiment, something only Mike could get. The conversation turned to how Mike's teaching was now being affected by Sherlock, as the media had got wind of Molly's involvement (everyone blamed Anderson) and now no other pathologist was good enough for students either it would seem. The conversation was cut short when the discussion had become heated again, this time between Tom and Sally.

"What do you expect? She's always been like this, almost as much of a freak as freak himself! Can you honestly say you're surprised that Phillip would extrapolate like that? Especially given their history!" Sally raised her voice slightly, the comparison in appearance with Sherlock enough to wind her up it would seem.

"Also, I don't know if you've noticed, but you do look uncannily similar," Anderson chipped in, becoming fascinated with the ingredients in the crisps he was eating as everyone else on the table glared at him, as if it was some unwritten rule that their appearances should not be mentioned. Tom chose to ignore Anderson, more interested in Sally's last sentence,

"What do you mean history?" He asked slowly, hoping she would divulge the information before Molly came back over and stopped her.

"I mean, the reason she's the only one that will work with him, the cases they have done together, the experiments, the ungodly hours she works. They've been like that since I got involved with homicide, and that was 6 years ago now." Sally chose her wording carefully, she knew Greg was looking for a reason to discipline her, and wasn't going to give him the pleasure. Thankfully for Molly (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it) Sherlock popped his head around the door. He raised an eyebrow, she shrugged her shoulders, he rolled his eyes, she shook her head in apparent despair before following him down to the morgue.

"Christ, not that again." Greg muttered, putting his head in his hands. Tom looked at the older detective, confused by the non-verbal conversation and his subsequent reaction,

"Not that again?" He asked, unsure he actually wanted to know the answer. The more he learned about Sherlock and Molly, the less he wanted to know.

"When the three of us began working together, those two never spoke. It was almost as if they didn't need to- like they knew what the other would respond so there was no point in talking. Very frustrating because it meant it took twice as long to get any information out of either of them, as they'd have arguments, more like staring contests, instead of helping with the investigation. It wasn't until shortly before John arrived on the scene that they actually began conversing. Right. Back to the job, all of you. See you later Tom." Greg explained cautiously, he could see from experience that this fire needed no more fuel.